Italian Women POWs Shocked by Their First Taste of American Spaghetti and Meatballs: A Cultural Collision in a Wartime Prison Camp
October 14, 1943. New York Harbor—an emblem of the city that never sleeps, yet for 32 women onboard the transport ship, it was an unfamiliar sight. The city, glittering and whole, stood as a stark contrast to the devastation they had left behind. These women, part of the Italian auxiliary corps, had seen firsthand the destruction of war. They had been taken prisoner, processed in Palermo, and now they were on a ship headed toward an unknown future in a foreign land. There was no escape, no refuge from the uncertainty that lay ahead.
As the transport ship eased past the skyline, these women, held in the grip of wartime captivity, stared out at the buildings that appeared untouched by the conflict they had so long endured. The skyline, a symbol of peace and prosperity, felt like a world away from their own reality. Their eyes were wide, their minds brimming with questions they couldn’t yet answer.
The journey from Italy to America was one of loss, fear, and unfamiliarity. But the greatest surprise was yet to come—the true shock that would define their new lives as prisoners of war in a foreign country. That shock came not in the form of barracks behind wire fences, nor the harsh commands from their captors, but in something as simple, yet as profound, as a plate of food. A seemingly innocent act of kindness, an offering to boost morale, would become a moment of cultural dissonance, an experience that would reverberate in their minds for years to come.
The Long Journey: From Italy to the U.S.
After their capture, these 32 women, members of the Italian Auxiliary Corps, were sent to the United States as prisoners of war. They had been part of the Italian war effort, supporting the Axis powers in their respective roles. However, with the fall of Mussolini’s regime, the women were caught in the crossfire of a changing world order. They were processed in Palermo and, like countless others during wartime, found themselves thrown into the tumult of international conflict, helpless and displaced. The journey to the United States was long, but it was only the beginning of their unsettling new reality.
Upon arriving at Camp Carson in Colorado, they were assigned to a separate compound, behind barbed wire. The barracks offered a glimpse of basic comfort: electricity, heat, and running water—luxuries they hadn’t known for years, especially with the constant rationing that had characterized their lives back home. Still, the looming sense of captivity remained, a reminder that despite the comforts, they were prisoners in a foreign land, isolated from the world they knew.
It was at Camp Carson where the first unexpected cultural clash would unfold. The women were assigned work details, which included laundry, clerical tasks, and kitchen duty. Twelve women were assigned to the kitchen, including Lucia Ferretti and Maria Costa, who had once spent their lives surrounded by the smells and sounds of traditional Italian cooking. They had grown up in kitchens where food was a symbol of family, love, and culture.
But here, in a foreign kitchen under the supervision of American soldiers, they would encounter a version of their own culture that would challenge everything they knew about food, taste, and tradition.
The American Meal: A New Experience for Prisoners of War
In the mess hall, Sergeant Robert Murphy, with his Boston accent and good humor, opened massive cans of tomato sauce, bringing an air of practicality to the proceedings. The ingredients—sugar, dried oregano, and basil—were far different from the fresh, local ingredients the women were used to back in Italy. There were walk-in freezers, stainless steel countertops, and pantries stocked with what seemed like endless supplies—strange and opulent to the women who had spent years coping with rationing and scarcity.
Private Anthony Russo, an Italian translator, was tasked with helping the women navigate their new environment. It was Russo who would eventually translate the words of Staff Sergeant Vincent DeMarco, who would offer a proposal to the women: a special Italian dinner to boost morale.
DeMarco’s enthusiasm was genuine. He wanted to show respect for their culture, to bring a sense of familiarity to the women who had traveled so far from home under difficult circumstances. But what he didn’t anticipate was the profound cultural gap that existed between the meal they would serve and the traditional dishes these women had known.
A Special Italian Dinner: The Introduction of Spaghetti and Meatballs
On November 20, 1943, at precisely 1800 hours, the women were invited to a special dinner—a moment of warmth and hospitality amidst the cold reality of their captivity. The tables were set with flags and proper plates, signaling an effort to make the meal feel festive, to elevate the spirits of the women in a way that only food can. The centerpiece of this meal was, of course, spaghetti and meatballs—a dish that, to Americans, was as quintessentially Italian as any other.
The first bite, however, would forever alter the perception of this humble dish. As enormous bowls of pale spaghetti were placed before them, the women’s faces reflected a mix of confusion and curiosity. The sauce was bright red, but it was thin and sweet, nothing like the rich, flavorful tomato sauces they had known in their own kitchens. The meatballs, two per person, were the size of small oranges, perched awkwardly on top of the spaghetti. The iceberg lettuce salad, drenched in bottled dressing, was a far cry from the fresh, garden-picked greens that had once been a staple of their meals.
Lucia, ever the observer, cautiously lifted her fork, preparing to take her first bite. Maria Costa, equally hesitant, stared at the plate, unsure of how to approach the strange meal before her. And Julia, always the diplomat, commented in her calm, measured tone, “The portions are very generous.”
When asked by a lieutenant whether the meatballs reminded them of home, one woman, perhaps with a touch of sarcasm, replied, “Only in that they are round.” Another added, “Very large,” while Russo edited the statement with a diplomatic touch: “Very large, yes.”
The moment was a collision of two worlds, two culinary traditions, and two sets of expectations. It wasn’t just a dinner—it was a reminder of how food, something so basic, can carry so much cultural weight. To the women, the meal wasn’t simply food—it was a symbol of the dissonance between the world they had known and the new world they were now being forced to navigate.
The Clash of Cultures: A Moment of Disconnect and Understanding
The meal was well-intentioned, but it highlighted the vast divide between the two cultures. For the Italian women, the food served to them wasn’t just different—it was almost offensive in its simplicity and lack of authenticity. It wasn’t the food of their homeland; it wasn’t a reminder of family gatherings or the warmth of a Sunday dinner. Instead, it felt like a hollow imitation—well-meaning, perhaps, but lacking the soul of the dishes they had grown up with.
In a way, the meal symbolized their entire experience as prisoners of war—an experience that was both foreign and yet oddly familiar. They were in a country that had once been their enemy, now tasked with serving them food in an effort to show respect for their culture. But no matter how well-intentioned the gesture, the reality of their situation—far from home, in captivity, without the comforting familiarity of their own traditions—could not be ignored.
As the night wore on, the women tried to make the best of it. They ate the meal out of politeness, understanding that it was an act of kindness from their captors, even if it didn’t match their expectations. The awkwardness of the moment, however, lingered long after the plates were cleared. They had tasted something far more profound than the food itself: the distance between two cultures, the clash of traditions, and the quiet sorrow of being far from home.
A Symbolic Moment: The Power of Food to Bridge or Divide
The evening was a bittersweet reminder of the complex relationship between food and identity. For the women, food had always been a symbol of family, of home, of comfort. It was something that anchored them in their culture, a way to maintain their ties to their past, even in the face of war. But on this night, food became something else entirely—a reminder of what had been lost, of the vast difference between their world and the one they now inhabited.
And yet, despite the disconnect, the meal was also a small act of solidarity, an attempt to make the women feel less alien in their new environment. In that way, it was a symbol of the potential for understanding between cultures, even in the most difficult of circumstances. The Italian women’s response to the meal, though mixed, spoke to the resilience of their spirit—their ability to adapt, to make the best of what they had, even if it wasn’t what they had hoped for.
Food as Memory, Food as Survival
In the end, the meal served on November 20, 1943, was more than just a cultural clash—it was a moment in history. It was a reminder of the ways in which food serves as a bridge, a barrier, and a symbol. For the Italian women in Camp Carson, it was a moment of surreal juxtaposition: a dish they knew well, served in a way that was unfamiliar, strange, and somehow empty. But it was also a reminder of their enduring connection to their roots, their identity, and their ability to survive, even in the most disorienting of circumstances.
What started as a simple meal—spaghetti and meatballs—became a poignant reflection of the complex dynamics of war, culture, and survival. And as the women sat together, sharing that strange, unexpected dinner, they found a way to carry on—to hold onto their culture, their memories, and their strength, even in the face of an unfamiliar and uncertain future.
